


Survivor's Guilt

by puppypopcornpizza



Series: Daryl Dixon [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppypopcornpizza/pseuds/puppypopcornpizza
Summary: Daryl finds out she still can't deal with her emotions.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon/You
Series: Daryl Dixon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915780
Kudos: 32





	1. Sleeve

The room was light. Bouncing off walls with particles in their rays and sheets over skin, the fabric was cool to the touch. 

Her eyes squinted at the bright, skull pounding the more she tried to ignore. A broken croak while muffled voices came from behind the door. The floor was cold on bare feet, door handle squeaking as she turned it. 

Carl's amusement met her first, knowing eyes accompanied by the widest grin. 

"So how's _your_ day going?" 

"The day you wake up with a hangover is the day I start an entire fucking choir," his laugh shot through her skull. 

"There's painkillers in the kitchen," hand squeezing her arm before she could react. Pain shooting to fingertips while he walked off, footsteps matching the throbbing. 

She found Daryl in the kitchen. A greet met with a nod and no smile, arms crossed as he leaned back into the counter. 

"Everything okay?" Words mumbled behind the cabinet door, knuckles going white at the grip on the handle. 

A hum in response, eyes fixed ahead of him as thoughts raced. She frowned at him, jaw setting while he chewed at his lip. 

"Did you get me here last night?" A push for words, he nodded slowly. 

"Yeah," voice quiet as fingers bit into his bicep. 

"I'm sorry if I was a lot, Deanna had a lot of alcohol there." She matched his tone, voice barely above a whisper. Arm reached for a cup, sleeve pulling away as she saw bandages peek out. Her entire chest felt tight. 

"Did you…" She trailed off, eyes fixated on covered hurt. "I'm sorry."

"'S a'right," lies spilled out, a sigh leaving him. Hair covering eyes that she couldn't quite make out. She didn't want to. 

"Thank you," hands fidgeting to keep from trembling. "For everything you did last night."

Another nod and he pushed off the counter to leave, words left in the air at receding footsteps. He couldn't say anything, neither could she. Argument and hurt brewing until it couldn't, her heart ached at him being upset with her. 

"Are you angry?" He stopped, suddenly the room felt thicker.

"Didn' think there'd be new 'nes."

"I'm sorry."

"'S a'right," the door clicking as the room fell silent. 


	2. Guilt

A month of silence. Soft smiles and subtle humor replaced with stiff nods and nothing. The quiet was deafening, painful that his voice would ring of things she wish he'd said. She wanted to listen to pent up words he kept because at least then she'd know. 

But a month went by and he was silent. 

"They're healing up nicely," Denise covered lines and gashes. "I'm glad you came to me before they got infected."

She said it with such a smile, such kindness in her eyes that it seemed feigned. Hands gentle on damaged skin, bandages that should be used for importance instead of stupidity. 

"Thanks for not making a big deal about this," her voice sounded foreign. The last month had been silent. 

"Anything you need, I'm here okay?" Denise squeezed her shoulder, eyes still beaming warmth. 

She nodded, body moving without thought as footsteps carried her into the street. Sun blinding as the heat made longer sleeves warmer. It was normal. 

Daryl sat on the porch, smoke in the air and a curtain of dark over his eyes. Hunched over and deep in his mind, she passed him on the stairs before words left his lips. Gruff and quiet. The month had been silent, after all. 

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Can ya talk?" Eyes over his shoulder, focused on boots to keep from her gaze. 

"Yeah," the stairs felt different. Usual late talks and dozing off on his shoulder seemed too far to grasp. 

"'M sorry," she almost didn't hear him. Fidgeting with his hands, clenching his fist so hard knuckles went white. He was soft spoken and sincere, _gentle_. 

"'Know it ain't easy for ya, but seein' 'em…" Breathing unsteady, she watched his jaw tense. "Ya said it stopped."

"I know I did."

"Why didn' ya say somethin'?" He glanced to her, pleading eyes meeting broken. 

"It wasn't a problem," her entire body tensed at hearing him sigh. "We had a lot going on, Daryl. It wasn't anything important."

"When're ya gonna figure out tha' yer 'part of this? Tha' yer _fuckin'_ impor'ant to everyone here?" 

She knew he was right, words pouring from him weren't meant to hurt but to try and convince. She pressed her palms into her eyes before speaking, his eyes would break her. 

"I felt guilty," stars in darkness. She couldn't look at him. "I felt guilty about being happy and still being here after everything that's happened."

Blurred vision lifted to pure blue as a bitter laugh escaped. "I feel guilty that I can still laugh while Hershel can't. Lori can't see how amazing Carl and Judith are, and Beth-" 

Tears stung, numb and nothing breaking as she felt her walls break. Chest heavy as fingers trembled. 

"Ya couldn' do anythin'," head lowered to get her to see him. "None of tha' was on ya."

"I know," voice brittle and uneven.

His arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. She wanted to curl into him, make everything disappear while his touch ran down her arm and his whisper of assurance. 

"They didn't deserve that," breaking voice muffled into his shirt. 

"They didn', but ya can't hold the guilt."

A silent sob and he squeezed tighter, safety in a world where the concept sounded like a joke. 

"I love you _so_ fucking much," she gripped his shirt. "Please don't die on me, Dixon."

"Only if ya promise the same." 


End file.
